The Last Kings

  The Last Kings

  C. N. Phillips

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue - Mocha

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Urban Books, LLC

  97 N18th Street

  Wyandanch, NY 11798

  The Last Kings Copyright © 2016 C. N. Phillips

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6780-6

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Prologue

  Mocha

  Motivation. It was just another word that held nothing but a dictionary definition to me. I stood in the mirror of a sleazy hotel bathroom staring into the dirty mirror above the white marble sink. Staring back was a woman with wide, light brown eyes that might have been pretty had it not been for the smeared mascara and bags under them. The long black hair, once neatly in place, was now disheveled. The red lipstick on my lips faded. I could barely recognize myself.

  What am I doing? I thought to myself before grabbing a fistful of my thick hair.

  I stood there in my matching black lace lingerie set; the sexiest that I could afford. The curves on my twenty-two-year-old body stood out, and although I was tired, the beauty in my round face did too. I heard my client snoring lightly in the other room. I always worked them out and put them to sleep; that way, it was easier to collect my money and sneak out the door. This night was different, however. I wanted to look at myself. Not just look, actually see myself. In the act, not the aftermath of designer shoes, clothes, and purses. So after the deed was done with my client, that was exactly what I did. I looked at the woman in the mirror . . . and hated her. I hated me.

  I reached and grabbed a cigarette out of the box of Newports that the man had left on the sink in the bathroom and the lighter next to them. I could feel my stomach churning and knew that my body needed something to stomach my reflection. It was sad seeing myself like that, especially knowing that at one point in time, I was on top of the world. Shaking my head, I sighed. Although my appearance was disgraceful, there was one thing I knew for certain: I was going to go collect my money. I took a few hits of the cigarette before putting it out on the sink, leaving a circular burn mark. I didn’t care; it wasn’t my bill. I then quietly opened the bathroom door and tiptoed to the end of the bed where my cream-colored minidress lay. I slid it on as quickly as I could and slipped my high black pumps onto my feet.

  My money had been left on the dresser before anything went down that night because I always had to see my money up front. Two thousand dollars for one night with Mocha, and trust me, it was always worth it. I looked disgustedly at the plump white man lying on the motel bed before snatching up my Gucci clutch and my money. I didn’t know how much longer I could do what I was doing. I left the cheap room feeling like even less of a woman than any of the other times. I walked a little way to my all-black 2015 Chevy Impala SS. Getting in, I was relieved to finally be on my way home, even though that wasn’t any better than that nasty hotel. Still, lying in my bed sounded good.

  I was what some called a prostitute or a whore. I hated those names, but it was what it was. What I did was dangerous, but my clientele weren’t just random thugs off the streets of Detroit. They were rich men, some married and others just lonely. The guy this night usually took me to high-class penthouses and suites, but tonight, he wanted to try a different fantasy. He wanted to “fuck me in a cheap hotel like the dirty little black whore I was.” Whatever. As long as he was paying me. My money was top priority. Two thousand only got my clients an hour. Only sex if they didn’t drop an additional two more stacks on top of the hourly rate. As you could see, he was one of my lower-paying customers.

  The drive to my shabby neighborhood didn’t take too long, and surprisingly, the streets of Detroit were silent this night. I rode with my windows slightly cracked so that I could feel the light breeze of the night on my face. No music played at all. It was just me and my thoughts. I drove by a few young boys patrolling the block ready to make a sale, if need be. I smiled sadly because deep down, I missed that life. The fast-money lifestyle with no dignity lost. I guess there was still a little speck of a hustler in me, although it had subsided over the last year since the brutal murder of my best friend, Sadie. Since I’d been out of the game a lot had changed. For one, I’d become a prostitute so the quick money and respect I was used to faded. Sometimes I hated myself so much because I didn’t know how to make it without her. She had been the leader since we were kids, the mastermind in all that we did, and I missed her.

  We were freshmen at a local college when we figured out that what we wanted school couldn’t give us: never-ending money and power. At first a drug cartel was just a little joke between us, but then Sadie’s big cousin Ray came to us on some Ace Boogie-type business. Ray had come across an Italian connect by the name of Vinny who could provide never-ending business. Sadie was down instantly, but I, on the other hand, was a little skeptical. Sadie, of course, talked me into it and before I knew it, we were on and getting it in big time. It was scary at first because being a girl in the game was like a person swimming in a pool full of hungry sharks. Yet, we started off big time, so it wasn’t hard maintaining a leveled position where the top began. Ray then got us our first pistols.

  “Niggas hate seeing a come up,” he’d said. “Especially when they’re looking for one.”

  His words held true because less than a week later, I had to use my .48, Lucy, for the first time. Somebody must have gotten wind of our operation because we were set up. That night, I killed somebody. I actually think I killed a few people. After taking my first life, I finally gave in. One way in, and one way out was how Sadie and I saw it. We were about that life as soon as we had made our first sale; it was money over everything in the beginning. The money rolled in, and our team got larger. In less than a year, we had the biggest drug operation Detroit had ever seen. Nobody was touching us. Not even the feds. Our operation was so underground, they didn’t know who to trail. Sadie and I dropped out of school when we were twenty and moved in with Ray. Everything was going great . . . until I made the dumbest mistake somebody in my seat of power could do. I fell in love. Like Ray said, “Niggas are always looking for a come up.”

  I was so blinded by my heart that I didn’t see what Khiron was doing until it was too late. Until he got what
he really wanted: to be on top and to control our empire. He wanted everything Sadie and I had worked for, and unlike the boss that I was supposed to be, I was caught slipping.

  Another thing Ray was known for saying was “All your niggas ain’t loyal.”

  The Last Kings was betrayed by someone who should have been their most loyal. I remember seeing Khiron’s bullet enter Sadie’s body . . . her choke on her own blood until she died. Right there in front of me. Ray was next.

  “You, Mocha, aren’t going to get the luxury of death,” Khy had said to me.

  I would never forget those words. Every day after that I wished he would just kill me. Most nights I came home he was there waiting for me, even though we didn’t stay in the same house. I was his trophy piece. His way of showing the world that he’d brought down the best. He was the king of our cartel; nobody was even coming close to him. Little did he know his plan was flawed because he hadn’t thought it through completely.

  See, Ray had been planning on getting out of the game. Calling it quits; he had enough money stacked up. He’d told one of us the information about his connect and that one wasn’t me. Surprise, surprise. That put a slight dent in Khy’s plan, especially when the Italians pulled business and went ghost. At first, things were shaky, but eventually, Khy found his own connect, and so far, the streets were taken care of.

  Khy was a demon. I hated him. I sold my body at night just so I could stack up my paper to get away from him. Far away. There was nothing left in Detroit for me because he had, or took away, every single thing that had given me joy.

  He moved me back into the hood to keep an eye on me while he lived like royalty in a mansion on the good side of town. I had a nice car, nobody bothered me, he paid all of my bills, and I didn’t have any worries. That’s what he told me constantly. He wouldn’t even let me go back to school and get a semi-fresh start.

  “Bitches like you belong at home in the kitchen or on their knees for they man,” he said when I brought the subject up.

  Khy changed from the charming man that I first knew. I take that back, I never knew that man. I met his game face. I know him now, though, and he had hell to pay.

  Coming up on my home, I slowed to turn into the driveway of my one-story brick house. A shadow on my stoop caught my eye, and I could see that there was a person posted up, as if they were waiting.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I said aloud to myself, unbuckling my seat belt.

  It couldn’t have been Khy. He had a key. The person stood up when I opened my door. Although it was dark out, I could make out the frame of a woman. At first, I thought she must be a crackhead looking for a hit, but the closer I got, I knew she couldn’t have been. She was in designer clothes and heels.

  “Excuse me, but who the hell are you? And why are you outside of my house?” I asked bluntly, putting my hand in my purse.

  I wasn’t scared. Lucy was in my Gucci, loaded and ready to bust. The stranger stepped down the three steps from my stoop toward the light by my garage door. Her features became more distinguished as the shadows no longer concealed her. I opened my mouth to speak again, but I caught my breath, and my heart became a drummer in my chest. The woman before me looked different than I remembered; her hair was in a bob cut. But the sharpness in her dark brown eyes were the same, and she was still gorgeous with her five-five frame and Coca-Cola shape. I couldn’t believe it. I took a deep breath.

  “Sadie?”

  Chapter 1

  Three Years Earlier

  “Mocha, wake your lazy ass up!” I yelled at my best friend who was snoozing loudly in her bed.

  She continued snoring like she hadn’t heard me, although I was pretty sure the people in the dorm room next to us had. I grabbed a pillow from my bed and hauled it across the room at her, hitting her dead in her pretty sleeping face. The expression it held when she was fully awake almost made me regret my actions.

  “Sadie!” Mocha growled before she sat up and shot me the dirtiest look she could muster.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Who could take a person seriously when they had slobber sliding down their face? Not to mention her hair was all over the place.

  “Shut up, bitch, and go clean yourself up. We have class in an hour,” I said back to her still grinning.

  “I don’t see anything funny! I was sleeping good!” Mocha complained, stretching.

  “Clearly,” I said sarcastically.

  “Fuck you, Sadie. I’m not going to class. I’m tired.” Mocha tried to throw the covers back over her.

  “Well, if you weren’t out fucking Antwan’s ass all night, you wouldn’t be tired!” I walked to her side of our dorm room and snatched the cover back. “Your ho ass should have remembered you had class in the morning.”

  Antwan was Mocha’s newest male interest. He was a wannabe hustler who thought he was the man. Key word: “thought.” I personally didn’t see what she saw in his tall, black self; besides his perfect smile and smooth chocolate skin. Other than that, I saw nothing appealing about him. He attended a few classes at the community college in Detroit, Michigan, where Mocha and I went, and he must have laid the D on her something vicious. He had my girl’s head gone.

  “Girl, don’t hate!” Mocha said, sitting up. “Just because your pussy is covered in cobwebs doesn’t mean you have to rain on my parade!”

  I rolled my eyes at her comment. She was completely wrong, and I let her know so.

  “Bitch, my pussy has standards unlike yours—Mrs. Bust It Wide Open for anyone with a big dick.” I threw some clothes at her. “And don’t forget that the only reason we’re even here is because of our scholarships. We don’t have time to slack off. Here, I even picked out your outfit!”

  I was already dressed in a purple Victoria’s Secret pink hoodie and sweats with my light tan Uggs. My long, dark brown hair was pulled on the top of my head in a bun. I had picked out a similar outfit for Mocha, except hers was red. I loved how the pants accented the curves of my hips and plumpness of my behind.

  “I fucking hate your ass.” Mocha stood up with her clothes and headed for the bathroom.

  I could tell she had just recently had sex by the way she was walking, yet trying to pretend her legs weren’t sore.

  “You got forty-five minutes!” I yelled as the bathroom door slammed shut.

  Twenty minutes later, Mocha walked out of the bathroom looking like a shapely model. I had always been a little jealous of her figure. We both had curves for days, but her butt was a little pumper than mine, and her hips a little wider. I got more luck than she did in the chest department with my 36 C-sized breasts, while she couldn’t even fit a C. Her creamy mocha latte-colored skin was silky smooth. She wore her long hair wet, crinkled, but pulled back in a tight ponytail. The way her hair was slicked back brought out the light green specks in her light brown eyes.

  “Awe, boo!” I gushed at her natural beauty. “You so cute.”

  “Leave me alone, Sadie, I’m still pissed off at you.” She was trying hard to hold back her grin.

  “Whatever.” I handed her designer Coach backpack to her. “Let’s go before we’re late.”

  Mocha put on her matching Uggs, and we grabbed our pea coats, mine black and hers gray. I locked our room up and just like that, we were on our way. I made small talk on our way to our math class, mainly to keep my mind off of the cold nipping away at my ears.

  “Have you talked to Ray?” I asked Mocha, swerving to miss a young white guy riding his bike on the tiny campus grounds.

  “Bitch, he’s your cousin,” Mocha said through chattering teeth as she walked. “You’d hear from him before I would!”

  I rolled my eyes at her smart remark, mainly because it held truth to it. Although my grandmother had taken Mocha in when she was fifteen after her dad was murdered and her mom ran off with the first man who would take her, she wasn’t my blood. Ray looked at her like his little cousin, but he and I were closer. It hadn’t felt like it the last three or four months, though.
It seemed like he was distant. He set Mocha and I up with everything designer and kept our pockets full, but that still didn’t make up for the absence of my favorite cousin. I knew that his name was loud in the streets, and I also knew what he did to keep it that way so it was something that I had to deal with. Knowing him, though, he would pop up sooner or later. We had almost made it to the building our class was in when we heard a deep voice and footsteps coming up behind us.

  “God knows he’s wrong for giving y’all all that ass!”

  I whipped my head around ready to curse whoever it was. I calmed down when I saw it was nobody but Antwan’s black self.

  “You’re so stupid,” I shot him a dirty look.

  “Antwan, it’s too early.” Mocha tried to sound annoyed, but I could tell she was a little happy at just the sight of him.

  I couldn’t lie, Antwan was looking fresh with his hair newly cut, and he was rocking Ralph Lauren head to toe. But still, he was so not my type. He licked his lips hungrily at Mocha while his eyes traveled her body up and down.

  “Yeah, it’s too early,” Antwan caught up and began walking in between us. “What are the two baddest bitches on campus even doing up right now?”

  “I’m not a bitch,” Mocha snapped. “And we have class, silly; this is a school. Why the fuck else would we be up?”

  Antwan chuckled and shook his head.

  “Yeah, this is a school, and you obviously didn’t check the school Web site either. If you’re not an upcoming graduate, you ain’t got school all week. Somethin’ about neighborhood violence or some shit.”

  Mocha stopped in her tracks and glared at me.

  “Fuck!” I said, remembering I had seen that the night before. “I forgot!”

  “Fuck is right! Because I’m about to fuck you up!” Mocha told me.

  “Damn, I said sorry!”

  “When? I didn’t hear it!” she huffed.